


Life Day

by NiCad



Series: A New Way [6]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cult Upbringing, Death Watch (Star Wars), Drinking, F/M, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Sex, Life Day (Star Wars), Nightmares, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Medication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiCad/pseuds/NiCad
Summary: Life Day.A day to celebrate family.A Mandalorian lays curled on his side in a makeshift bed, locked in the throes of the recurring nightmare of his youth.But it’s not even a nightmare. Not really. Because it really happened. It’s more of an autobiography. A flashback. And despite the fact that he knows exactly how it ends, because it ends the same way every time, he’s helpless but to live through it again.He lets out a low moan when the first bomb hits and rattles his childhood home.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s)
Series: A New Way [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699135
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	Life Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the chapters from _Iron and Kyber_ , a work-in-progress follow-up to [Crossroads](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22311970/chapters/53293408). You don’t necessarily have to have read _Crossroads_ to understand everything, but it does flesh out the OC (a survivor of Order 66 as a Jedi Youngling) and tells how the baby got his name (Yadier). I still have a ways to go on I&K, but this chapter’s been ready for a while, so I figured I’d post it for the holiday. I’ll remove this when it comes time to include in the full story.

_But say you’ll never turn your back  
Say you’ll never harden to the world  
Say you’ll never try to still the rhythms in your breast_

Tracy Chapman, [Tell It Like It Is](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ImmhkRMWN4)

* * *

Life Day.

A holiday to celebrate family.

Din doesn’t particularly care for the red robe he has to wear for the day. It’s not the best outfit to run around and play in, but his parents wear the same thing, it was expected at this morning’s Temple service, and he loves everything else about this day, so he doesn’t protest it too much.

He’s had the whole week off from school. His parents have had the week off from work. They’ve spent the time decorating their home with lights, and the whole settlement of Aq Vetina is decorated as such. Each evening, they’ve strolled through their neighborhood, together, looking at their neighbors’ displays. His mother is light-heartedly competitive about their display, so they talk about what they should do differently for next year to improve.

His father had taken him to the market yesterday to pick up all they would need for their Life Day feast. A large tip-yip that would provide leftovers for nearly a week, a giant gourd that his mother would somehow transform into a pie, a variety of vegetables, and the highlight for Din: two meiloorun fruits, one for his mother, and one for himself.

He sits at the table now, pitting the fruit while his mother works on the pie. His father prepped the tip-yip before Temple this morning and their entire home smells like juicy, roasting poultry as it does its thing in the oven. Din’s ravenous as a result, but he’s patient. He’s focused on the meiloorun, sinking the knife down just to the pit, then working it all the way around, careful to not cut the hand holding the fruit.

Din is suspiciously good with knives for a seven-year-old. His father is slightly concerned, but his mother capitalizes on it. Her son’s vegetable prep skills are a godsend. Someday, she’ll talk her husband into letting their son help with meat prep, as well.

She has no idea that she’ll never get the chance.

Din gets all the way around the meiloorun, sets the knife down, and uses both hands to twist the two halves of the fruit apart, the pit remaining in the half in his left hand. Now comes the fun part – he picks up the knife once more, flicks it into the pit, letting the blade lodge itself in, then twists, freeing the pit from the fruit. “Got it,” he says. He holds the knife up, displaying the pit stuck to the knife, big brown eyes sparkling with pride.

His mother turns, smiling. “Thanks, kiddo.” Her son hasn’t quite gotten the hang of dislodging the knife from the pit accident-free yet, so she accepts the knife from him and does it herself, then returns the blade to him handle-first so he can cut the slices in before scooping them out of the skin.

He never gets the chance for that, either.

A deep thump is heard in the distance, and everything in their home rattles.

Din’s mother pauses her work, setting the gourd back down to the counter, and looks out the window.

His father steps into the kitchen and looks out the window as well.

Another thump. Another rattle.

His mother turns and starts towards the bedrooms.

His father shakes his head. “There’s no time. They’re too close.” He steps around the table, turns Din’s chair, and takes a knee before his son. “We have to leave.” His voice is shaking.

“But-”

“I know. But the droids are attacking. We have to leave. Like how we talked about before.”

“But it’s Life Day!”

“I know, kiddo,” his father says, brushing Din’s hair back off of his forehead. “Droids don’t care about Life Day. We have to go now. You have to be brave. Like we talked about before. Remember?”

Sorrow and anger well up through the little boy. He’s been looking forward to this _all week_. The tip-yip and the gourd pie and the meiloorun, and then after, they’re supposed to go see the fireworks with his friends at the center of the village when it gets dark.

Din _loves_ fireworks.

But the fear in his father’s eyes is self-evident. He’s never seen his father be afraid before. His father is kind and funny and sometimes snarky, but never _afraid_.

But he is sometimes serious. Like when they talked about the possibility that they might have to leave home in a hurry, someday. His father had said they probably won’t have to, but they might, and Din would have to be brave and do what he was told, if that day should arrive.

Din looks at his father’s face and knows today is that day.

“Okay,” he says.

His father scoops him up. They leave their flat. They run down the stairs. They run out the door.

They run out of their home and straight into hell.

Into the droids and the blasts and the blood and the dead meat strewn all over the ground.

After what feels like hours but is only minutes, he’s huddled in the back of the bunker. Alone. He hears the shell scream overhead and feels it slam into the ground nearby. He watches as the blast doors bounce on their hinges. His mouth opens, but he’s too terrified to let the scream out.

He knows what’s just happed. He knows whose lives have just ended.

Droids have murdered his parents on Life Day.

Droids, lifeless things that have never drawn breath, have just robbed his parents of theirs.

The sudden emptiness that fills his heart is unbearable. He would do anything… _anything_ … to make it go away.

A little girl steps into the crack of light that filters down through the gap between the doors. He’s never seen her before, but somehow, she looks familiar. She’s his age. Her light brown hair is pulled back into braided pigtails, and he can tell it’s curly by the way the loose strands form ringlets around her forehead. Her eyes are blue. The same blue as the steel knife he was using minutes ago, when held under the light just so.

Her face is serious but kind as she approaches and sits on the ground next to him. She’s not wearing a Life Day robe. Just black leggings and a tan tunic belted at the waist. Leather boots. She has a stuffy of a little green alien with big black buttons for eyes and huge pointy ears that stick out sideways from its head under one arm. She holds the stuffy out to him, and he takes it, holds it close to his chest, and an odd sense of relief washes over him. “What is it?” he asks her.

Her expression ticks over to confused, like he’s asked a stupid question, but the kindness still remains under it all. “He’s our baby.”

It should sound absurd, for several reasons that immediately come to mind, but somehow, it makes sense in his head. Like he’s known it all along. “Oh. Right.” His terror from a few moments ago has subsided to a dull anxiety. Enough to keep his tummy in a knot, but not so much that he’s shaking, anymore. That changes when the doors are flung open, and the terror returns.

A battle droid stares down at them, raises its arm, and takes aim.

Din turns away, turns towards the girl, and starts to close his eyes.

Still, he sees as the girl raises her hand, holds it in the air for a moment, and then forms a fist.

The droid collapses to the ground above them in a series of unceremonious clangs.

Terror once more bleeds to confusion and he asks, “Did you just do that?”

She smiles at him, and her face beams with it. “Yep!”

“H… huh… how?”

“I’m an enemy sorcerer!”

Again, what should be an absurd answer makes perfect sense at the moment. “Oh. Right.”

A shadow swings over them as another figure approaches the opening of the bunker. This one is also covered in metal, but looks slightly more human. It reaches out with a hand and beckons.

Din turns to the girl. “I have to go, now.”

Her smile fades, but not all the way. “I know.”

“Will you be ok here?”

“Yeah.”

He looks at the stuffy in his hands, then up to the armor-clad figure, then back to the stuffy. Their baby, apparently. He holds it back out to her. “Can you keep him safe while I’m gone? I’ll come back for him when I’m grown up.”

She takes the stuffy back and holds it close. “Yeah. Be careful, Din.” She flicks her eyes up to the armored figure and then back to him. “Watch your back with those guys.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He starts for the ladder, then stops and turns back. “What’s your name?” He feels like he should know it already, but even she has to pause to consider, her face scrunched up in concentration.

“Rez,” she says after a few moments. “Right now, I’m Rez.”

“Right! I knew that.” He smiles, and she smiles back.

Din climbs the ladder.

* * *

Life Day.

A day to celebrate family.

A Mandalorian lays curled on his side in a makeshift bed, locked in the throes of the recurring nightmare of his youth.

But it’s not even a nightmare. Not really. Because it really happened. It’s more of an autobiography. A flashback. And despite the fact that he knows exactly how it ends, because it ends the same way every time, he’s helpless but to live through it again.

He lets out a low moan when the first bomb hits and rattles his childhood home.

The Jedi lying next to him twitches in her sleep.

His moans get louder as he’s carried through the streets in his father’s arms. And then, when the final shell hits, he lets out a long, guttural scream.

The Jedi twitches again, rolls over, and throws an arm around him. Still asleep, she pulls herself close.

The Mandalorian calms.

“Rez,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep. “Rez… I knew that.”

He stills. His sleep is quiet for the rest of the night, the Jedi tucked in around him.

* * *

Four days earlier.

The clan of Rollins-Djarin walks home from the Jedi temple at the end of the day, Yadier leading his parents with a bounce in his step. Rayne notices the decorations that have gone up along both sides of all the streets since they had made their morning walk. Lights strung up along the sidewalks and crisscrossing the streets themselves, forming a bright, sparkling canopy. It looks like more decorations are on the way, with spools of light strings stacked next to the trees they are about to adorn. Rayne watches as Yadier takes it all in, eyes huge, a broad smile on his face. She brushes the back of Din’s hand with her own. “Looks like they do it big for Life Day here.”

“Mm.”

His tone is non-committal, and Rayne feels some darkness creeping out from his seams. She doesn’t pursue it. They’ve been training hard lately, and they’re both exhausted. She’s looking forward to the holiday downtime that starts tomorrow.

They get home and Din heads straight to the kitchen, pulling his helmet off on the way. He places it on the table, retrieves a beer from the fridge, and steps out on the balcony. Yadier watches, ears drooping, noticing the change in routine. His father almost always is the one to put him down for his pre-dinner nap. Rayne notices that and more – pre-dinner naptime is often a thing for the adults as well, though it’s not so much naptime as it is putting the bed to its other major use. On the occasions when it gets precluded in favor of stress-induced drinking, Din always takes the armor off first, and usually changes his clothes.

Rayne scoops her son up and he snuggles into her as she kisses the top of his head. “Don’t worry, Yadi,” she whispers. “We’ll figure it out.” Placated, the boy goes down for his nap easily enough. She snags a beer for herself on her way through and joins her husband on the balcony.

The late-fall days seem to retain most of their warmth, but the evenings have become crisp as the sun sets earlier, and she’s glad she’s kept her jacket on. Din’s pulled his chair over to the corner looking out to the river far beyond, barely visible at the edge of the city. His features are chiseled into a thousand-mile stare, brow furrowed, mouth pressed into a thin line.

She pulls a chair up next to him and sees that he’s most of the way through his beer already. Much faster than his normal rate.

She’s quiet for a while. He finishes his beer, gets up, comes back with two more, opening one and keeping the other on the side opposite from where she sits.

He’s not sharing, apparently.

“Wanna talk about it?” she asks when he’s gotten half-way through beer number two without so much as a sigh.

“Nope.” His tone betrays nothing. His gaze remains unwavering.

She finishes her own beverage and hauls herself out of her chair. “I’ll get dinner started.” They usually share this activity together as well, but she doesn’t see that happening tonight. She runs a gentle hand along the back of his shoulders as she leaves. He tenses, but doesn’t shrug her off.

He picks at his dinner. Beer number four goes down easier than the food. He gives up and leaves the table, taking his plate with him. He scrapes the food off into a container for his lunch the next day, then heads to the shower. Yadier watches it all, eyes shimmering with tears, feeling the low boil of his father’s anger. Rayne picks him up and shifts him to her lap. “It’ll be alright, kiddo,” she says, knowing Din’s anger isn’t meant for either of them.

When she’s put Yadier down for the night and gotten everything squared away, she slips into bed behind Din, unsurprised to find him with his back turned to her side of the room. She can tell he’s not asleep. “What do you need?” she asks, her voice quiet in the dark.

He reaches back for her hand, pulls her arm around him, breathes a short sigh, and does nothing else.

He skips out the next day, leaving before his wife and child wake, leaving a note claiming that something on the Razor Crest requires his attention. She gets a comm from him that evening – he’s heading to the gym at the Temple to get a workout in. Don’t save him any dinner. Don’t wait up. Indeed, she’s in bed for several hours by the time he gets home. She hears him pour a huge shot of whiskey into a tumbler. Hears the bite in his breaths as he gets it all down as fast as he can. Listens for him to collapse in the shower, but it doesn’t happen. He crawls into bed, pulls her arm around him once more, and curls into a hard ball of muscle and bone.

He does the same thing the next day.

By now, Yadier is in a state of constant low-grade distress, ears flat against his shoulders, mouth turned down, a steady stream of thin tears trickling from his eyes. Inconsolable at childcare while Rayne is wrapping up a few work details, his teacher comms Rayne to come pick him up early, unable to pry him from the corner where he had sat himself, crying silently with his back to the rest of the kids. She holds him close as she walks him home in the mid-morning sun, his face buried against her neck, his cries quieting as she pats and rubs his back. He refuses a chance to play on the playground at the park on the way. He refuses a free offer of mystery-meat-on-a-stick from his favorite vendor as she gets set up for the lunch crowd.

Whatever is going on with Din, its effect on their son has gone too far.

They get home, and Rayne pulls the stick with all of the data she had lifted from the Jedi Temple on Coruscant from the drawer of Din’s nightstand. The vows that bind them together chime in her head. _We are one when apart. We share all_. She settles into the couch with her datapad in hand and Yadier still firmly attached, tiny claws still wrapped into her shirt. She plugs the stick in and navigates directly to Din’s Mandalorian register file. She scrolls through it, her eyes scanning for dates, until she lands on something that explains everything.

The entry for Din’s Date of Capture.

Life Day. Thirty-eight years ago.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She whispers the words to herself, forgetting that she has a toddler with ginormous ears, excellent hearing, and who is currently imprinting languages latched onto her.

She recalls the flashbacks that have leaked out of his mind over the course of their time together, recalls how everyone, including himself, was always wearing red. She’d originally chalked it up to a gap in his memory, something his brain had made up because he couldn’t have possibly remembered what everyone had been wearing on that day, and it would’ve made sense that his brain had chosen red. The color of blood. The Mandalorian symbol for honoring parents. A somewhat brighter version of the color he painted his armor. Nothing really explained the fact that they were wearing robes, but she’s never taken the time to think about it.

Nope. His brain had actually recorded it all with cinematic accuracy. They’d all actually been wearing red. They’d all actually been wearing ceremonial Life Day robes. On these counts, his memory had told it true.

The cruelty of it breaks her heart, and Yadier begins to sniffle once more as Rayne allows him her understanding of his father’s recent behavior.

Death Watch had conducted the raid, the faked Separatist raid turned Mandalorian “rescue,” murdered his parents, destroyed his home, destroyed his village, and obliterated his entire life as he’d known it, on Life Day. A day to celebrate family. Destroyed by those who had kidnapped him.

On fucking _Life Day_ , of all days.

They even took that away from him.

She sets the datapad aside and holds her son as he trembles and cries, allowing him his grief on his father’s behalf. Her eyes do not stay dry, either. After several minutes, the emotions rolling off of the little boy morph from overwhelming sadness to an urge to heal. An urge to help. An urge to mend the wound in his father’s heart.

 _“How?”_ he asks his mother in his own silent way. _“How?”_

She ponders it for a bit, then lands on a possible solution.

Her son smiles.

Din shuffles through the door late that night and is surprised to find his wife curled up on the couch, reading. “I told you not to wait up.” His tone is rough, and she can feel him coming apart at the seams. He stands by the door, motionless, leaving the helmet on.

Rayne puts her datapad down and meets his gaze. “I figured it out.”

“Figured _what_ out?” Despite his best efforts, he is unable to keep the petulance from his voice.

“That the raid happened on Life Day.”

“Good for you.” He heads for the kitchen and pulls the bottle of whiskey from the shelf.

“Yadier’s been upset all day.”

Din pauses, back turned. His shoulders heave with a sigh. He puts the whiskey back and heads for the door.

Rayne gets up and blocks his exit. “Where are you going?”

“Off this planet.”

Rayne frowns.

Din points to his beskar-clad head. “So neither of you has to listen to this. I’ll come back next week when I can behave myself.”

Her heart breaks even more with the realization that he knows exactly the kind of asshole he’s been lately and has been doing his damnedest to isolate himself from them. His first instinct is still to pull away. To deal with it on his own, even if it means cutting everyone else out. Not understanding that the cuts hurt both ways. “I have a better idea.”

“You think so?” He tilts his head in challenge.

“We all get out of town tomorrow. We load up the Crest, head to a wilderness area a few thousand klicks west of here. It’ll take a few hours if we slow-burn the sublights to save fuel. We’ll get there by the middle of the afternoon. Spend the rest of the week there. No lights, no fireworks, no special meal, no reminders. Just us, the ship, and the wild.”

Din’s posture relaxes, and she lets him take a few moments to consider it, head lowered. “That’s… ok with you? Not doing all the… stuff?” His petulance is replaced with wary skepticism.

She steps forward and takes his hands in hers. “The important part is that we’re together as a family. The other things are just frills. Not having them is more than ok with me as long as I have both of you.”

He sighs, swallows, and nods. “Okay. But…” he pauses, gripping her hands. “I… may have pulled the sublight nav system apart. And I… may not have figured out how to put it all back together yet.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I… haven’t been sober in two and a half days.”

It takes everything Rayne has to not roll her eyes. “We’ll fix it tomorrow and get there by nightfall.”

He pulls her into the shower with him. All he wants is to be held as the water washes him clean. As the water masks his tears. She holds him and feels the sharpness of his ribs under her fingers. He’s lost at least three kilos over the past few days, skipping meals and working himself to exhaustion trying to isolate himself from them, and he hadn’t been in the position to lose weight to begin with.

He pulls her into bed with him, once more pulls her arm around him, and falls into a more relaxed sleep, gratitude for the perceptiveness of his wife welling up inside of him and filling in the empty places of his soul.

* * *

Later.

Rayne wakes up in the morning, alone in the sleeping area on the top deck of the Razor Crest, sunlight from the flight deck canopy filtering in around the galley, the curtain pulled open. She can sense that Din isn’t on the ship. That he left some time ago. As far as she can tell, he’s probably fine. No major disturbance in the Force warning her of the contrary, anyway.

She closes her eyes and dozes, appreciating the slack schedule and alone time. After another hour or so, her sleep is disrupted by her little green baby as he crawls his way along the mattress, blowing raspberries for the duration of his journey. She’s awake by the time he reaches her face and plants a raspberry on her cheek and lets out a delighted cackle. She retaliates by tickling him, and the cackle turns into a squeal. Their morning greeting complete, she gets up and pads out to the galley to scoop out some yogurt and berries for breakfast, letting Yadier follow her back out on his own. She checks the flight deck before heading down the ladder. The mist outside is still burning off in the morning sunlight, and everything on the control panels checks out fine. Seeing the outside temperature, she ducks back into the bedroom, pulls on her boots, throws Din’s spare cloak over her shoulder, and then heads down to the hold. By the time end of the rear ramp has touched the ground, Yadier has made his way down.

Rayne hands him the bowl with both spoons already in it, trusting him to make it down the ramp without too much difficulty. With her hands free and the toddler out of range, she checks the weapons locker and finds what she expects. Din’s Amban is in its place, but the game rifle is gone.

As much of a note regarding his whereabouts as she can expect on this day.

She closes the locker, re-engages the lock, and joins her son on the ramp for breakfast.

Life Day.

A day to celebrate family.

The first time in five years she’s actually had cause to celebrate it, but they won’t. Not really. Not with what this day means for Din.

The annihilation of everything a seven-year-old boy had ever known and loved.

So here they are. Tucked into the side of a wide, grassy valley surrounded by forests and a small river running down the middle of it, hundreds of kilometers from the nearest civilization.

Rayne walks down the ramp and sits next to Yadi at the bottom, already having gotten started on eating, levitating his spoonfuls of yogurt from the bowl to his mouth with precision. She wraps Din’s cloak around them both to ward off the morning chill. “Think you can find _buir_?” she asks the little boy.

“Hmmm…” He tilts his head this way and that, ears twitching. After a minute or so of concentration, he frees a hand from the cloak and points to their right, at about 2 o’clock, which would put him in the forest on the other side of the valley. Rayne nods. “I think you’re right.”

In the back of her mind, she sees the ceiling of the flight deck cast in the dim light of pre-dawn gloom. The vision shifts to the left and Din comes into view, wearing full armor with the exception of the helmet. As he looks down, she realizes that this is Yadier’s memory of this morning, his view from the pod, and she feels the soft brush of her husband’s lips on her forehead as he kisses their son goodbye. “Be good for your _buir_ ,” she hears him say. He pauses, hovering, and his eyes search hers as they had searched their son’s. She feels a light touch along her earlobe. _“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, ad’ika.” I hold you in my heart forever, little one._ His tone is as raw and earnest as the look on his face. She ponders the translation for a moment, never having heard the words strung together like that, but she thinks she has a good idea of what it means, and it warms her heart through the morning chill. She looks down at their son and he smiles up at her. She wonders if he’s trying to reassure her about Din’s state of mind when he left this morning. _Dad’s okay. Dad loves me and he’s okay_.

She lifts an eyebrow and smiles back. “I love you too, kiddo.”

He busts out a laugh. _Yeah, that’s obvious, Mom_.

They enjoy their breakfast, listening to the birds sing in the nearby trees, the smell of damp earth rising up through the valley as the day warms up. Sure enough, a gunshot rings out from the other side of the valley a few minutes later and a small cloud of birds erupts out of the trees from the direction Yadier had picked. Another shot follows on the heels of the first, and they both sense the slight disturbance of the Force that signifies the extinguishing of a pair of lives as the echo rolls down the valley. Yadier’s ears twitch again.

As a lethal predator of frogs himself, he understands how it works. He’s under no illusions about where meat comes from. He understands the importance of minimizing the suffering of their prey, the importance of making sure nothing goes to waste. The taking of lives does involve the Dark Side. But there is also balance. He senses that his father’s shots were true just now. His quarry did not suffer. The species of his quarry are plentiful. Their family will eat well tonight. And in that nourishment, there is Light.

All is well, as far as Yadier is concerned.

Mother and son finish their breakfast, and Rayne sets Yadier free to roam around and sniff at the wildflowers just beginning to open up to the morning light as she takes the bowl and utensils back up to the galley along with Din’s cloak. She changes into her clothes for the day, comes back down, unslings two camp chairs from her shoulder, and sets them up next to an already existing rock-built fire ring. She then sets off for the near edge of the forest to gather firewood, her son toddling after her. She pulls the downed limbs free of the brush, instructs her son to keep them aloft while she gathers more, and they both levitate the wood back to the fire ring over several trips.

They have a decent pile stacked by the time the Razor Crest’s proximity sensor chirps. Mother and son both tilt their heads just so.

Their Mandalorian is almost back.

A few minutes later, the flash of a polished beskar helmet flickers over the near ridge, and Yadier sets off towards it, hopping and skipping through grass that almost reaches his shoulders, arms upraised, singing a stream of gleeful gibberish. Rayne wanders to the edge of the Crest’s shadow to watch as the rest of Din’s figure rises up the hill, hunting rifle slung across his back, his characteristic swagger amplified by the weight of the two large birds he carries by the talons in his left hand.

Good god, that swagger. She’s never seen any man sway his shoulders as much as Din does.

He taps his pauldron when Yadier reaches him, and the baby leaps up, grasping the armor, and then sits on his father’s shoulder as Din continues towards the ship. Father and son make it to the fire ring before the baby leaps back off into one of the chairs and Din lays the birds on the ground. Rayne’s not sure what they are – bigger than nuna, smaller than tip-yip. Din addresses their son. “Wanna help out and pull the feathers off those so I can talk with _buir_?”

Yadi blows a raspberry.

Din shrugs. “The sooner those get done, the sooner you get lunch. Up to you.”

The baby hops down and starts plucking feathers, one by one, with his tiny three-fingered hands.

Din takes his gloves off as he approaches Rayne and stuffs them under his belt. They’re not covered in blood, exactly, but they’re sticky. A little goes a long way, and he has a higher priority at the moment.

“Thanks for picking up dinner,” she says as he reaches her. She wants to smile, but something about him is off, so she doesn’t.

Instead of answering, he cants his head down and says, “A moment?”

His tone is neutral, but she knows this means _on the ship_. Not in front of their son. In case it gets heated.

“Okay,” she answers.

He leads the way up the rear ramp, through the hold, and up the ladder. When she follows him onto the flight deck, he closes the door behind her and leans against the portside console, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest, head down.

He keeps the helmet on.

She mirrors his posture against the starboard console, feeling the conflict rolling off of him, waiting him out.

He schools himself back before he starts. He’s been quick to blame her in the past. Once pulling his blaster on her when she’d removed his helmet to save his life, once holding her responsible for Yadier’s life-threatening injuries on Ilum. He’d come to regret it both times. That tendency had been used against him in a test of his worth for Genesarian citizenship, the Jedi Council’s manipulation of him into believing Rayne had murdered their son, driving him to the brink of murdering her, in turn. The root of it is that trust still does not come easily for him, even when it comes to his wife, so they’ve been working on it in their counseling sessions. Giving her the benefit of the doubt. Reminding himself that she has done nothing but respect his autonomy and protect both him and their son, sometimes at great cost to herself.

So with all of this in mind, he waits until he’s ready, waits until he’s reasonably sure he’s defanged the tone of his voice, before he starts.

“I had a nightmare last night.”

Rayne dips her chin in a nod. Nightmares are not unusual in this family.

“It was…” His voice breaks and he clears his throat. “The attack.”

She nods again, knowing the one he means. Not a surprise, given this day.

“You were in it. You were little. We were still the same age. As when it happened.”

She lifts an eyebrow. This is new. Then she frowns with the prompt to her memory. “I dreamed I was in a bunker last night… with you.”

He raises his head just enough to look her in the eye, but it’s a few moments before she reciprocates. He’d been quick to lash out at her one other time. Their first night together, when, on reflex, she had reached out with her mind to soothe his grief and he had shut her out, angry at the perceived manipulation.

So with all of this in mind, she raises her eyes to meet the T-visor of his helmet. “I didn’t mean to. I was asleep, Din. I didn’t…”

“I know you didn’t,” he interrupts, tone soft, before looking back down to the floor. “I’m just wondering what happens when it starts to go the other way. When you start dragging me into your nightmares.”

That’s… a perfectly valid concern. One she hasn’t considered yet. “We can probably train against it. Add it to the list of things to work on.”

He tilts his head in a conciliatory shrug. Training away the problems is the story of his life.

She unfolds from her side of the deck and approaches him. He uncrosses his legs so she can stand between his feet. Uncrosses his arms so he can rest his hands on her hips. “Have I ever hurt you?” she asks.

He shifts his weight against the console, pulling her in closer, and his mood shifts in similar fashion. He brings a hand up to his cowl, pressing at the corner of his neck and his shoulder. “I have a bruise right here.”

She tilts her head, hearing the smile in his tone. “Is that so?” She pulls the bottom hem of her shirt up, just enough to reveal the bite mark at the top of her hip. “Maybe it was payback for this.”

Things may have gotten a little desperate the night before, after three days of Din shutting himself down. Making up for lost time.

“Hm.” He runs the thumb of his bare hand over it, her skin warm under his. “Maybe I should put one on the other side, too.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Keep everything symmetrical.”

She slides a hand up his chest to the side of his neck opposite of where his current mark is. “That goes both ways, Mando.”

His hands tighten over her hips. “That a threat, Jedi?” His voice is a low growl.

Her eyes sharpen under her brows. “It’s a promise.”

He huffs out an approximation of a chuckle as his posture relaxes and his hands slide a little lower. He brings his forehead to hers with a light touch. She’s gotten a little more comfortable with the gesture with the helmet on, so long as he keeps the pressure light. Keeping it to daylight hours helps, too.

She closes her eyes and accepts it, knowing what it means to him. Today, of all days, she will give him whatever he needs. Nonetheless, the duties of parenthood call. “We better get back out there before Yadi eats one of those birds raw.”

Din releases his hold on his wife. “It’ll be another ten minutes before he’s done plucking the first one. He doesn’t like eating feathers.”

“Do I even want to know how you know this?”

He gives a slight shake of the head. “No. You really don’t.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll head back down and supervise.”

“I’ll get changed. We’re good out here?”

“No one around for at least a hundred kilometers.” About the extent of her sensory range for detection.

She turns to leave, but he stays her with a quick “Hey…” She stops and turns back as he pulls the helmet off. His eyes are a little red. Given that he’s been under the helmet for all of his off-ship time in the woods, it’s not likely that’s from his allergies. He reaches a hand out for her. She takes it, and he reels her back in. He brings his forehead to hers once more, pressing a little harder without the beskar between them. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “This is… a lot better than usual.” He kisses her. Nothing deep. Just soft and warm.

“You’re welcome,” she says. She hesitates, then asks, “What’s the usual?”

“Pretty much how it started this year. Excessive drinking.” There was the one time he’d snorted a line of spice instead, blacked out, and must have cleaned the ship from stem to stern, finding himself in his bunk the next day, exhausted, head and body aching, but with everything spotless. But that wasn’t quite the usual either, so…

She returns his kiss, taking this one a little deeper, taking a little more time with it before pulling away. She takes a moment to look him up and down before responding. “See? Progress already.”

* * *

Din changes into more casual clothes. Some of the things that Zavin had sent him. Khaki pants, tan long-sleeve shirt, leather vest. He can’t bring himself to abandon his sidearm blaster when he’s off the ship or not at home, so he wears it in his “casual” holster, a simple leather number that slants over his hips just so.

Father and son work together on cleaning the birds while Rayne gathers more firewood. Din would have preferred to hang the birds for a few days given cooler temperatures or a proper refrigeration unit to loosen the meat up. Lacking both, he opts for quartering them and marinating with a few things he scrounges from the galley. They have a light lunch, then the three of them doze together on a large blanket spread out in the sun.

The day is warm without being too hot, and after he’s rested for a bit, Yadi has decided it’s a no-clothes afternoon, so his parents smear him over with sunscreen before setting him free to tromp among the wildflowers and chase the insects once more.

Just when they think he’s going up into a respectable child, he turns back into a barbarian baby.

Din curls on his side next to his wife as she lies on her back, content to let him ghost his fingertips in slow lines over her midriff. He’s exhausted, running on four days of sleep debt, but he needs to distract himself. His hunting rifle is already cleaned and stowed, and he’s too tired to trust himself to polish any of his other weapons, so he does this instead.

He wants to distract himself from the meaning of this day, but he’s also curious about what it’s ever meant for her. “Did the Jedi ever do anything at the Temple when you were little? For today?” he asks.

She cracks an eye open, her face cast in his shadow, looking surprised at hearing the question. She takes a breath, gathering the memories. “Yeah, we had the day off from class. Big lunch with nuna and yams. Some of the clones wore red armor for the day. I don’t remember what the older kids did, but the clones would take the Younglings and read us stories for the afternoon.”

He traces her ribs from her hip to her sternum and back, eyes downcast. “Did… Eagle…” He’s not sure he can finish the sentence. He’s not sure he should have even started it.

She closes her eyes and takes another breath. “Yeah,” she says again. “Mandalorian hunting stories, actually.”

Din’s fingers halt their journey and he presses his palm flat against her. “What?”

“ _The Wolf and the Hare. The Rat that Ate the Snake_. Stuff like that. He said they were Mandalorian stories. We just took his word for it.”

Din rolls over so he’s on his back and throws his arm over his eyes against the sun, realizing his efforts at distraction have failed. Instead, he’s wound up jumping right back into it. The price he pays for occasionally forgetting how closely the fates of the Mandalorians and the Jedi are intertwined. “Yeah, they are.” His voice carries an edge like he’s talking about more than Mando folktales.

Rayne rolls over to face him, bringing her hand to his chest and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I don’t suppose a group that called themselves _Death Watch_ had any use for Life Day other than raiding villages?”

His chest rises and falls with a breath and he swallows. “I remember new batches of kids coming in like that for the next few years. Before the Siege. I think that was their version of a celebration. Bringing new lives into the covert. The lives they destroyed to do it didn’t matter.” He pauses for a moment, then continues. “It got rough after we left Concordia. I think the raids stopped, but training was always worse for the day. Always happened to be Interrogation Resistance Training day.”

“That sounds bad.”

“Everyone who’d sworn the Creed got waterboarded.”

Now it’s Rayne’s turn for shock. “What?”

“Y’know… getting water poured over your face while you’re wearing a cloth bag on your head.”

“I know what it is. The Padowans did it, but only when they were older, and only once.” She closes her eyes, processing his words. “You were waterboarded. As an annual holiday tradition.” Her tone is a strange mix of alarm and sadness.

“Yeah. Once a year. Six years.”

“Just the kids?”

“Oh, no. The adults got in on it too.” He turns his head to check on their son. Seeing the huge ears bounce through the grass no more than five meters out, he continues. “Fun for the whole family.”

“Let me guess,” she said, her tone taking a cynical turn. “Some bullshit about proving you could keep your mouth shut under duress on an annual basis being a great honor.”

“Something like that. _Our secrecy is our survival. Our survival is our strength_.” The words come out like they are wrote memory. An old chant he’s no longer convinced of. His face is still turned away, gaze cast out over the valley.

“What happened after six years?”

“I made it a point to never be at a covert on Life Day once I left the one I was raised in.” He lies back and closes his eyes. “What about you? After…” After escaping the Temple. After Order 66. He knows he doesn’t have to say it.

Her eyes fall to a crease in the leather of his vest. “Before the war, I’d just lay low. Just like any other day.” She allows herself a laugh. “I used to think it sucked, but it beats getting waterboarded, so I’ll stop complaining.”

The corner of Din’s mouth twitches into a brief, sad smile.

“Things were better once I joined up with the Alliance. We couldn’t do much, but Hayes always strung lights up in a corner of the hangar bay. They’d serve the traditional meal if the cooks could get their hands on actual tip-yip. Had a few years of vaguely bird-flavored protein bars when they couldn’t. Hayes always had recorded messages from his parents and his sisters. We’d watch those.”

She pauses, and Din brings a hand up to thread his fingers through hers, eyes still closed, unable to meet her gaze. “After the war?” _After Hayes?_

She takes her own turn to cast her watch over the valley, hearing Yadi grunt as he dives for a bug in the tall grass. “Excessive drinking,” she says, mirroring Din’s response from earlier.

Without opening his eyes, he brings her hand to his lips and places a kiss on the back of her knuckles. “Progress already.”

She tucks herself into his side as he brings an arm around her to hold her close. He thinks about how, not too long ago, he was at death’s door. He’d been in and out of death wish territory for years before that. Part of him had been terrified. Abandoning the child in battle had not been his plan. But once he’d relinquished the child to Cara’s care, he’d felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Once he’d relinquished the Mythosaur pendant, given her his token as a Mandalorian that would give them safe admission to the covert, he’d considered his duty complete. He’d done everything he could for the child. Taken him as far as he could.

Once free of the burden of the kid, he’d been ready to die.

He’d _wanted_ to die.

He’d thought the shitshow his life had become since the age of seven was finally coming to an end, and he had been _relieved_.

He remembers being… _done_ with it all.

He may have even told IG-11 to speed up the process a bit. His memory is a little fuzzy on that point.

Now, here he is, a year later, the child now claimed as his own. Married to a woman who shares his son’s gift and who can handle all the things they both dish out.

Life is… good. Really, damn good.

Threats loom on the horizon, for sure. Their son struggles to meet developmental milestones. His wife fights the Dark Side off on a daily basis. Death Watch itches at the back of his mind. The First Order is gathering. But these are manageable things. Things they are, as a family, handling. Perhaps even with a bit of success.

Maybe… maybe this is something worth celebrating.

For the first time in Din’s life, he can look over his shoulder at the ghosts of his parents and maybe hope they’re happy for what he’s made of himself.

Yadier comes tromping back from his explorations, panting with the effort he’s expended chasing and eating bugs. He crawls up between his parents and burrows down between them, creating his own gap as he goes, a loud purr buzzing through him. Still sans clothes, the temporary tattoo of their mudhorn signet is prominent on his shoulder, freshly applied before they left home. Din wonders if the others of his son’s species get tattoos, and if so, at what age they consider it appropriate, and how many years before that when Yadier will begin to insist on a real one. Wondering if they’ll give in if their son wants the mudhorn they have inked into their own shoulders. The baby gives one last wriggle, then mutters something unintelligible in a low growl.

Din meets Rayne’s gaze, his left eyebrow quirked at a suggestive angle.

God, that eyebrow quirk of his undoes her every time. She does her best to return the gesture. “I’ll put him up for a nap on the ship and come right back.”

“Yeah.”

By the time she comes back out, she finds Din standing on the edge of the blanket, back turned to the Razor Crest, looking out over the valley, arms crossed over his chest.

He’s… naked.

She pauses.

As much to wonder why he’s jumped the gun on a state they normally prefer to achieve together as to admire the scenery. She’s never really had an opportunity to see him at a distance like this. To see the lean shape of him without the cloak obscuring his lines. Broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips. Almost lanky, but with a certain amount of grace. His shoulder blades are etched in the late afternoon light, the valley of his spine cast in shadow by the muscles of his back. Her eyes linger on his glutes. They’re a little flatter than one might expect, but what he has is all business. What she would give to have seen him like this at the end of their stay on Methuselah, after a month of an hour or two under the sun every day just like this, his skin an even golden brown, not a tan line on him. What she would give to have seen him that way without the helmet, during the day, against the backdrop of the beach and the lake, before his color had faded back under the near-constant cover of armor, leather, and canvas.

Maybe they can go back, someday. For now, she’s happy to have him as he is.

Rayne shrugs herself out of her own boots and clothes and carries everything over to the blanket, not bothering to silence her steps, not wanting to startle him. She steps behind him, runs a finger down the side of his hip, then presses the full length of herself along his back, sliding her hands around his midriff to lace together over his navel.

He’s trembling.

He’s shed every last layer of protection from the remnants of his soul, and in this moment, is facing the world unprotected by a single thread.

It’s not like Methuselah. Genesaria is a populated world. He’s done this before, trusting Rayne’s senses that they would not be disturbed. She’d picked a sheltered hollow for that particular event. Here, the exposure is greater, the wide valley opening out before them, the unobstructed sky over their heads. The challenge is far greater and he forces himself through it. Forces himself to face it with his eyes open.

He feels his wife behind him, feels her skin against his, feels her lips on his spine as she places a kiss between his shoulder blades. He leans back into her a little, finding comfort in her embrace, and her hands slide lower. He has a ways to go before he’s ready, and she takes him in her hands. She is gentle with him, and it doesn’t take long, her lips still pressing soft offerings to his vertebrae. Once she has brought him to full aching attention, he turns to face her, locks her gaze with his own, runs his thumbs along the outside of her eyes and behind her cheekbones, and kisses her.

She pulls him down to the blanket.

* * *

Dinner is delicious.

It turns out to be close to a traditional Life Day meal. The marinade had taken to the quartered birds quite well, and after baking in a cast-iron covered pan buried in the campfire coals, they are tender and perfectly cooked. Yams and veggies cooked in a similar manner round out the meal. No gourd pie, and Din hadn’t dared to pack meiloorun, but what they have is tasty enough, and they all eat with gusto, Yadier diving in with a wistful “batuu!” before his first bites.

After, Rayne and Din sit by the fire, passing a flask of whiskey back and forth, Yadier asleep in Din’s lap, curled up into a ball against the chill of the night. Din is back in his casual attire, but with his cloak draped over and tucked around the baby. Too late in the season for crickets or peeper frogs, they still enjoy the night, the sound of the wood snapping in the fire, the stars shining through the crisp air. A long, haunting call rises up the valley from the river, changing notes a few times before dying away. One of the aquatic waterfowl that populate the area defending its territory. A few others start up in reply, a short-lived chorus that echoes up the hillside.

Rayne lets out a contented sigh, leaning her head back. “I dunno about you, but this was way better than usual.”

“Mmm.” Din lets out a hum of agreement. “Good hunt. Got laid. Good dinner.” He takes a pull from the flask. “Yeah. I’ll take it.” His other hand rests on Yadier’s back, sliding up and down at odd intervals.

Rayne lifts her chin to their son. “Any bets on how it stacked up against the rest of his?”

“Pretty well, I imagine.”

“Low bar.”

“Yeah.” His hand slides up and down again. “We avoided it last year. Spent the week in orbit over a dead moon to stay away from it all.” He slouches back and hands the flask to his wife, thinking about next year. They could come back here again. Get some lights and string them up under the airfoils on the ship. He’s not sure he wants Life Tree needles scattered all over the hold, but they could get a holo-projected one, at least.

Maybe, if he’s feeling really brave, they can try their hands at that gourd pie. Maybe he can find the courage to bring a few meiloorun.

Yadier squirms in his lap and lets out a purr. Din lets his eyes slip closed and feels all of the tension drain from his body.

A mortar shell explodes in the distance.

Little more than a sharp _pop_ survives by the time the sound reaches them, but it’s enough to drive Din from the chair, knee to the ground, shielding his squawking son and drawing his sidearm at the same time.

For a moment, all he sees is red. Life Day robes. Blood.

He smells the fire. The smoke stings his eyes and nose.

_No no no no no not again no not again no…_

If he had kept his eyes open for five more seconds, he would have seen the distant flowering glitter of fireworks before the delayed sound of another one that follows. Then another. Then several at the same time.

Din _hates_ fireworks.

“Din? Hey…”

He turns his head and sees Rayne crouched by him, not too close, hands up, eyes wide with concern. Yadier grumbles and he looks down and realizes he’s holding his son far too tight. He realizes he’s breathing far too hard. Feeling the pinpricks of fading adrenaline spread across the backs of his hands, he holsters his sidearm and settles back with his butt to the ground, not quite yet trusting his legs. He sets Yadier on his feet so they can both decompress. “I’m sorry, _ad’ika_. Did I hurt you?”

The baby shakes his head, reaches for the Mythosaur pendant, and slides it into his mouth.

Rayne takes a knee next to him. “I’m sorry – they’re out of my range – I didn’t realize-”

“I know,” he says, catching his breath.

His tone is mild, signaling that it’s safe to touch him, so she brings an arm up around his shoulders. He’s not trembling, but he’s still tense. “Do you want to head in? I can get things squared away out here.”

“No, I’ll be fine. I just… need a minute.” He allows himself to lean into her as she holds him and brings her lips to the top of his head. He allows himself to feel safe in her arms. Allows the tension to slide away. After the minute has ticked away, he pulls himself up, and sees that the fireworks are still streaming into the sky. Yadier follows his gaze, and upon seeing the sparkle and the shimmer on the horizon, bounces on his feet and squeals with delight.

Din sighs.

He remembers how he used to love it, too.

“Alright, _ad’ika_ ,” he says, scooping his son up and returning to his chair.

“Let’s watch the show.”

**Author's Note:**

> The theory that Din was captured on Life Day is not mine, but one presented in [Dreaming of a Red Life Day](https://www.looper.com/174724/easter-eggs-you-missed-in-the-mandalorian/), theorizing on why everyone in the village is wearing red ceremonial-looking robes. I found it absolutely heartbreaking, so OF COURSE I had to build an entire chapter around it.
> 
> The birdcall they hear in the valley sounds like a loon. Imagine hearing [this sound](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LD2lFLyjGAY) camping in the back woods at night. (God, I miss hearing it. How on earth I just made myself cry finding the right clip, I have no idea.) 
> 
> Have a good Thanksgiving and stay safe, everyone.


End file.
